


To the Threshold

by Truth



Category: Chronicles of Riddick (2004)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Violence, canon character death, genocidal religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The taking of a throne is never so easy as it appears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Threshold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [C.Fukurou](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=C.Fukurou).



The entire place smelled of death, a stink he knew well. Riddick was no novice to murder. He'd known war and wholesale slaughter, the distant deaths of anonymous soldiers or guards at the end of a gun; known too the intimate feel of a life slipping between his very fingers. Death was a part of Riddick's life, more so now than he'd ever dreamed. From a life begun beneath the hands of a man determined to see him dead to – this.

The measured tread of armored feet eventually faded, sharp echoes dying away and leaving a heavy silence. The gloomy hall stood deserted, save for the figure slumped against the dark throne and the body still lying at the foot of that same throne.

His throne.

'You keep what you kill.'

Small comfort. He'd come here for a single purpose, Now all that remained of his furious assault upon the Necromongers and their Lord Marshal was the crumpled body at his feet. Kyra was lost, slipped between his fingers and leaving, not for the first time, the feeling that he'd somehow failed – failed her.

The Necromongers were fools, all of them. They embraced death, or at least professed that aim. They walked about, souped up on some combination of drugs and fucked up religion, talked of the dead and the quasi-dead, praised the end of all….

"Fucking religious fanatics." The words dispelled the foreboding silence that seemed as much a part of the hall as the ugly depictions of the now-deceased Lord Marshal's face. His voice was a growl, low and disgusted, echoing his mood as he looked again at the body sprawled by his feet.

She still looked like the child Jack, even in death – rare in a universe that left corpses slack-jawed and pop-eyed, asprawl in a pool of their own filth. He glanced at the spot where the other body had lain, remembering how they'd borne it away. Whether it was bound for some place of ritual or merely the nearest garbage chute didn't concern him in the slightest.

Dead was dead.

Kyra was dead, as so many others Riddick had known were dead, as his very world was dead. There was nothing mystical or wondrous about it. Everyone died. That's how the universe worked. People died.

This one just made an unusually pretty corpse.

He shifted on the throne, slumping further and scowling up at the ceiling. Maybe the Necromongers were on to something after all. They were still wrong, but he might be able to just glimpse the edge of what they were after. It didn't make them any less crazy.

"Morbid reflection? You struck me as a man of action, Riddick, not of regrets." Aereon's voice, crisp despite the hint of sympathy, preceded her arrival. "You have defeated the Lord Marshal." She appeared mid-step, her flowing garments still twisting gently in a non-existent breeze as she approached the throne. "Congratulations, Riddick."

"Congratulations?" He looked up at the Elemental, lips twisting into a humorless smile. "I fail to see any reason to celebrate, unless High Lord of the Nutjobs includes dental." The pseudo-smile widened to show teeth. "I've always wanted dental."

"You've never wanted power?" Aereon drifted closer, skepticism obvious. "Command of an entire nation of heavily armed soldiers, who know no fear – no pain… men have killed for less."

"Or tried." The smile vanished and his eyes shifted to the stain of black where the previous Lord Marshal's body had so briefly lain. "I'll be watching my back."

"You always do."

He brought his attention back to her, wary. "You wanted this to happen. You planned it."

"Elementals do not plan. We calculate."

"So you calculated it. Tell me, Elemental," the word slow and challenging, lingering on every syllable, "what do you _calculate_ will happen next?"

She hesitated, looking searchingly at the man slouched low on the massive throne. "I don't know."

"You don't know." Amused disbelief as he tapped his fingers slowly on the armrest of the throne. There was something else simmering slowly beneath the words and they both knew it.

"Richard B. Riddick has been a soldier, a murderer, a convict, a hero – " She broke off at his wide, sarcastic smile, " – to those who do not have the pleasure of your acquaintance, that is. Now he is Lord Marshal." Aereon gave him a searching look. A calculating look. "But that title means nothing to you. What you are, Riddick, is a Furyan. Their reputation is not one to inspire confidence."

"You told Imam that you needed to fight evil with evil." He continued to tap his fingers gently, one, two, three - remembering.

"It's not as simple as that."

"Another of those phrases you're so fond of." There was no amusement left as his fingers stilled. "What will I do next? Or are your vaunted calculations deserting you?"

It was her turn to smile, a slight twist of bitterness to her lips and to her voice. "You will survive."

A moment later, he was again alone. Aereon had vanished into the air, leaving him to stare thoughtfully into the dim emptiness of the - of _his_ throne room.

"Survival is for chumps." He rose slowly to his feet, looking down one last time at the body on the floor. Kneeling, he pulled a strand of hair away from the cold, dead face, looking at the mark on her neck from which her life had been drawn mere hours before she died. "The real trick is to _live_."

**

"You hesitated." She was not shrieking, because Dame Vaako did not shriek. Even in horror and in loss, she knew what was at stake. Her voice held no less venom for the softness of its pitch. "You _hesitated_ and now that – that –"

"I did not hesitate." Vaako held his voice low with iron control, looking straight ahead as he strode down the passage, huge weapon still in one hand. "He was caught between us and he _chose_ to die by Riddick's hand."

"What?!" She forced a smile to her lips, almost a rictus, and tucked her hand against her husband's arm, leaning into him; a picture of closeness, if not true affection. There was strength in numbers, and the careful, sidelong looks from the people passing in the long passageway were deflected, somewhat, by the show.

It was pride that kept her by her husband's side, pride and the desire for power. A Necromonger didn't feel love and was incapable of reproduction. The union between a man and a woman was one of sex, of calculation – of shared strength and halved weakness. She had thrown in her lot with Vaako irrevocably, invested years in twisting his loyalty only to her. She had carefully built and strengthened his ambitions and now, at the eleventh hour…?

"What do you mean, he chose Riddick?"

His fingers dug into her wrist as he dragged her into one of the darkened alcoves lining the passage. The stylized metal spine of her dress made a scraping sound as her shoulders hit the wall and a pained gasp twisted her lips into a snarl. His hand closed over her mouth, fingers digging into her jaw as he snarled, "I _had_ him, there on the floor, at my very feet. He was caught between us and, in the last instant, seeing full death before him, he _chose_."

'Betrayal for betrayal.' The unspoken words were ashes on her tongue. She brought up her hands, closing them over Vaako's wrists and digging into the joint.

He relaxed his grip. Were she full human, there would already be visible bruises forming beneath her skin. She was not, and there was less pain than fury in her expression as she stared up at her husband. "He was a _fool_, giving in to his fear, controlled to the last by the words of that damn Elemental. Do not, do _not_ fall into that same trap."

"It is over." He pulled his wrist free with a savage jerk, the enormous weapon in his free hand tipping dangerously toward her. "Riddick is Lord Marshal now, and everyone saw my attempt to wrest the throne. We will be lucky if we last another day before we see the Underverse for ourselves."

"We are too close to lose now." Her palm met the flat of the blade, deflecting it with an easy push. She stepped into his personal space, having to tilt her head to hold his gaze. "This is not over. I will not allow it."

"I think you'll discover that, this time, you have no say in it." He turned away, but she caught at his elbow, pulling him back. "No! This… this scheming and plotting – it is at an end."

"It is all we have _left_." She refused to let go, pulling her husband's arm until he turned to face her. She could still feel the points against her jaw where his fingers had grated against bone and it hurt to smile. She forced the expression to her lips despite the discomfort, tightening her own grip. "I will pay a visit to our new Lord and Master."

"To what end?"

Her smile became almost genuine as she looked past him to the twisted face of the second Lord Marshal, jutting from the wall behind. "You let me worry about that."

**

The Lord Marshal's personal chambers closely resembled the throne room, at least in color palette. Dark shadows crawled against steel grey, relieved here and there by softer, charcoal tones. Heavy curtains gave a pretense of luxury, but only a pretense. Riddick's new home was as dark and uncluttered as the rest of the Necropolis.

"The man liked black."

It had been a long time since Riddick had found himself somewhere that hadn't demanded the near constant use of his goggles to shield himself from the light. He wasn't enjoying the opportunity as he might. The rooms were larger and the furnishings, sparse as they were, a nice change, but the resemblance to max confinement in one of the subterranean slams was definitely there.

"Cheery little place. No wonder they're all nuts." Minor exploration revealed a desk with a few maps, a bedroom and a small bathroom. There was a rack with armor on it, for a man both taller and more lightly built, and a closet with just a few items stored within. The Lord Marshal apparently practiced what he preached, a rarity amongst those in power – either that or being half-dead cured you of the want for luxury.

It looked as though someone had intended it to resemble the quarters of a soldier, but something wasn't quite right. Maybe being a Necromonger forced a different sort of perspective.

He laughed, softly and with a touch of bitterness, as he tossed his goggles onto the desk. "Perspective, yeah – he had a lot of that."

Riddick's habit of talking to himself was an old one, and one that he usually didn't indulge in aloud. He'd spent a lot of time with no one else to talk to, and he was comfortable in his own company. Here, though, here there would be eavesdroppers.

"Let them listen." They might even learn something.

There was blood on his face, dried and flaking. Sweat stuck his shirt to his skin, and he could feel heavy bruises that would soon force his movements into an awkward stiffness. Riddick found a towel, black, and some soap, a dark blue, and helped himself to a shower.

Clean clothing was also found, slightly too tight and, to continue the theme, black. By the time he was finished dressing, he was scowling. Everyone in this place, in this society, seemed to wear something akin to a uniform. He'd only seen one person wearing anything that wasn't dark blue or steel grey and that memory sparked another and then a third.

Pulling open the door to his quarters, he leaned out to ask a question of one of the ceremonial guards standing without – and paused, question dying on his lips. Standing in the passageway, hands folded demurely before her, was the woman he'd been thinking of.

"Dame Vaako requests an audience with the Lord Marshal," came the barked announcement from the heavily armed guard to his left.

"So she has a name." And a title to go with it. Interesting. He could smell fear in the air, half-choked with fury, and none of it matched the look on her face or the way she held herself. Half pleased, wholly suspicious, he took a step back. "Come on in."

As she passed him, still with that totally false look of demure composure, Riddick leaned forward to tap that same guard on the shoulder. "See to it that we're not disturbed."

**

"We all began as someone else." They were true words, words of the faith, and still they echoed uncomfortably in the small room.

"This is different." Toal did not look impressed by the recited dogma. "The Lord Marshal has always come from the ranks of the faithful."

"So it should have been Vaako?" The three commanders stood in a loose triangle, their discussion one not meant to be shared with outside listeners. "To receive the post through treachery?"

"He would not be the first to strike in a moment of weakness." An armored hand came up, closing into a heavy fist as Fahdra looked to his fellow commanders.

"Vaako lied to the Lord Marshal, to us all. He said that Riddick was dead. Who is to say it was not a plot between them?" Scales shifted his weight, armor giving a heavy scrape as he shifted his shoulders. "I agree with Toal – the Lord Marshal has never come from the unconverted. This Riddick is not one of us."

"The first Lord Marshal crossed the Threshold before the Necromongers came to be. Perhaps it is a sign."

Toal gave the speaker a disbelieving look. "To compare this man to Khovu is – "

"Is natural enough. He brought an upheaval to the universe, and the creation of our way." Fahdra dropped his fist, looking at their companion with sudden discomfort. "That way lies either salvation or madness, Scales. I am not certain which."

"In either case, he must prove himself through his pilgrimage to the Threshold." Toal's declaration was grim. "In the meantime, we must watch Vaako. It would not do for a repeat of his actions before the throne."

"Not until Riddick's pilgrimage is over. Who knows, he may not return from the Underverse at all."

As the sound of their booted feet retreated, a flicker of pale fabric against the dark wall revealed an eavesdropper. Softly, in the falling silence of the room, a woman's voice echoed, "Who indeed?"

**

"So what brings you to my doorstep, sister?" Riddick closed the door behind them with one bare foot, turning to lean his shoulders against it. He watched his visitor pace steadily across the room, buying herself some space before turning to face him.

He had to admire her sense of theatre, the trailing end of her skirt curving just so, her hands still held demurely before her – she was the very picture of welcoming calm.

"Why, everything has been happening so fast," she told him, eyes innocently wide, "I thought it would only be polite to offer you a guide to the more esoteric of our ways. You were an outsider until a few hours ago, after all, an enemy. Now, you are our leader." She paused, and Riddick again found ironic humor in her sense of drama. "Or will be."

"Cut the bullshit." He tipped his head, remembering that same gambit with the wide eyes and the soft voice from their first meeting. The one that had revealed a few too many secrets and nearly gotten him killed. "You're only interested in one thing, Dame Vaako."

To her credit, she didn't lose her poise, merely raising one carefully sculpted eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"Yourself." He gave her a wide grin, and there was no friendliness in the expression. "This is a culture that glorifies war and death, and you're the only woman I've seen do more than hover silently in the shadows. I've seen no women warriors or commanders. I've barely seen any women at all. You, on the other hand…."

"Me?" She spread her hands, giving him the faintest, mocking twist of a smile.

"You've got a pathological need to be center stage – or as close to it as you can get." Riddick remained leaning against the door, watching her closely. The fear was fading, slowly, but the rage was as strong as ever. "And I just stole your spotlight – or did I?"

"As you say, our society is based on war. We Necromongers place a great deal of importance upon physical prowess and brute strength." She stepped toward him, leaning in to breathe the last few words against his skin before turning almost casually away. "There have been women in the ranks of the warriors, but they have been few. We are weak, you see," and the glance back over her shoulder showed a flash of that carefully hidden rage, the mocking tone of her voice showing clearly what _she_ thought, "and unfit for battle. So declared Khovu, our first Lord Marshal."

"I see. So you can't climb through the ranks the way the men do." Riddick found the entire idea somewhat ridiculous. Some of the best killers he'd known had been women, but they'd also been smart enough not to buy into the brute force approach. You work to your strengths, if you want to survive, and the Necromongers could do with a bit less rigidity. "So you're forced to find a man and," with a slow, unkind smile, "ride him to the top."

Whatever her claims of weakness, the hand that met Riddick's jaw with a loud 'crack' connected solidly enough to jolt his head backward. "You are not the Lord Marshal yet," she told him, her fury suddenly bare and obvious. "You know nothing of us, or our ways. How _dare_ you judge me!"

Riddick rubbed his jaw slowly, watching her fury with dark amusement. "I know that you're not above using your body to get what you want. That's what landed me here in the first place, remember?"

"That's a reflection on _you_, not me," she snapped. She took a step back, folding her arms tightly. "You are not one of us, of the faith. You have _no_ idea what you've fallen into, what you've _stolen_. If you want to survive long enough to hold what you've taken, you'd do well to learn exactly what that is!"

"And you're a reliable source, is that it?" He pushed away from the door, noting that she did not retreat. "I remember a scream – and I don't think you were mourning for the guy with the knife in his skull."

"That kill should have belonged to Vaako!"

He paused, balanced suddenly on the balls of his feet. He remembered the commander who had confronted him so angrily on Helion Prime, who had followed him to Cremetoria, who had stood over the fallen Lord Marshal with an ugly, multi-hooked blade. "Ahhhh. So _that's_ the man you've been grooming for the role?" He watched her, ready for another blow. "We hadn't been formally introduced."

Dame Vaako forced herself to calm, fingers folding into fists as she took a long, slow breath. "You have a lot to learn about our - _your_ culture. I think, perhaps, we should begin with another visit to the Quasi-Dead."

**

Whatever his actions before the Lord Marshal's throne, Vaako was still first among the Necromonger commanders. He would not neglect those duties, despite the still-simmering rage and disappointment. He was a Necromonger _first_, and despite the machinations of his wife, his loyalties had not changed.

"The new Lord Marshal will be preparing for his pilgrimage." He strode along the ranks of assembled soldiers, aware of the looks directed toward him by the other commanders from their place at the far end of the hall. Grimly, he ignored them. Head held high, ornamented helm beneath his arm, he continued his pacing. "He will be accompanied to the Threshold of the Underverse by an honor guard, as is customary."

The soldiers remained silent and motionless, ready for whatever commands they might be given. A Necromonger was without fear and lived only for conversion and conquest on their journey toward the Underverse. While it was a great honor to escort the Lord Marshal on his pilgrimage, it would take them from the holy war and their quest to conquer and to purify.

"As we move toward Helion Five, your commanders will be selecting the very best among you for this honor. There will be a – " Vaako paused, attention caught by the arrival of a messenger. "- a formal announcement once we have finished with our ground campaign there."

He gestured to a waiting officer to finish the inspection and dismiss the troops. Turning away, he moved toward the messenger, who was waiting at attention to one side of the still-watching commanders. "What is it?"

"Dame Vaako requests that you join her at the Quasi-Chamber," the man told him, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Our new Lord Marshal wishes to seek instruction in the faith."

The message was clearly audible to the waiting commanders and Vaako contented himself with a curt nod. "Toal, see to it that preparation continues."

"Yes, sir."

For all the enormity of the Basilica, it took Vaako less than fifteen minutes to make his way from the hall where he had been addressing the troops to the Necropolis and to the Quasi-Chamber within.

He found his steps slowing as he approached, remembering the events that had begun with Riddick's last visit to the Quasi Dead. It colored everything with a flush of anger, and put a certain snap into his walk. He was not prone to regrets, but if he had moved just a little faster….

Too little, too late. Riddick would be Lord Marshal and Vaako was left with empty hands and filigreed armor to go with a rank that meant _nothing_. He'd been so close – and perhaps his failure was nothing more than what was meant to be. Clenching his fingers against the edge of his helm, he made his way up to the viewing deck.

Dame Vaako was standing away from the edge, not looking down at the Quasi-Dead below, but glaring daggers at the back of Riddick's head. Riddick himself was leaning against the edge, but was also paying no attention to the slowly writhing creatures below. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Vaako.

"Your creepy friends here," with a thumb jerked downward, "tell me I'm supposed to head off on a pilgrimage." Riddick didn't look very impressed. "But I'm curious."

Vaako looked over Riddick's shoulder at his wife, who abandoned her obvious fantasies of killing Riddick where he stood and made a 'go on' gesture at him. Scowling, he said, "Every Lord Marshal since the first has made the trip to the Threshold, coming back as half-dead and wielding the full power of our faith."

"Yeah, I get that." Riddick glanced down and then again fixed his gaze on Vaako. "What puzzles me is that I was told this whole business here," as a gesture indicated the Necropolis around them and the fleet beyond, "was on its way to the Underverse – eventually. Why does the Lord Marshal have to go on ahead? What's the hold-up? The rest of you not quite holy enough yet?"

"You were there when the Purifier spoke. You heard the Lord Marshal's words." Vaako's voice was sharp and nearly rang with his impatience.

Riddick's lips peeled back to show teeth in the parody of a friendly smile. "Yeah, I wasn't really paying much attention to the posturing. Try it again – and use small words."

Vaako ground his teeth, aware of the white hot glare directed at him over Riddick's shoulder. He could almost hear her voice, cautioning him to hold his temper – to wait. He could hear the grate of his own teeth as he responded, and struggled for composure in the face of Riddick's flippancy. "It is our duty to cleanse the universe of its greatest mistake. Only when all life has been extinguished can we reach the Underverse ourselves."

"I see." Riddick shook his head, abandoning that line of questioning to turn and stare down at the Quasi-Dead below. "Seems a waste of time to me. Sending all those souls ahead only to be last to the party, but hey – it's not my problem, is it? I'll be seeing the place first."

"Such words, spoken too loudly, could lead to difficulties with your commanders," Dame Vaako told him, making an effort to keep her voice soothing. "Perhaps you should ask a few more questions, find a better feel for the faith which is now your own."

"Sweetheart, the only thing I have faith in is myself." He turned to leaned back against the railing, weight on one elbow. "Ironic, isn't it? Now everyone else has to have faith in me too."

"Only if you survive your trip across the Threshold," Vaako snapped. "There is no guarantee that you _are_ the true Lord Marshal. If you cannot hold what you have, it will fall to someone else."

"Someone like you?" Riddick laughed, and Vaako felt the rim of his helmet bend beneath the sudden, crushing tension of his armored hand. "I tell you what. I'll go on this pilgrimage – but you're coming with me."

There was a moment of frozen silence and a sudden, confused babble rose from the Quasi-Dead below. Vaako simply stared at Riddick, eyes wide, as his wife began a sudden, startled protest.

"_The pilgimage - _"

"You can't – "

"_The Threshold - _"

"This isn't – "

"_The sacred journey - _"

"Enough!" Riddick held out a hand above the writhing Quasi-Dead who, for a wonder, fell silent at his sudden roar. "My word is law in these parts, or so I'm told." He jabbed a finger at Vaako. "You, me and a fast ship. Screw tradition. I want to see what all the fuss is about, and I'm not in a patient mood."

"You can't do this!" Dame Vaako's voice was tight with fear. "Tradition –"

"There was a first Lord Marshal– traditions have to start somewhere." He glanced back over his shoulder at her, offering a razor-sharp smile. "End somewhere, too. Look on the bright side, if only one of us comes back, there's a fifty-fifty chance that your boy will finally be Lord Marshal."

"That's a blasph-"

"That's enough." Vaako kept his own voice carefully even. "The Lord Marshal's word is law, even before his pilgrimage. He is the holy leader of us all, and his word _is_ the way." He did not look at her, not wanting to see her fury or her fear. "With your leave, Lord Marshal, I will need some time to prepare."

"Take all the time you want," Riddick told him, turning back to lean against the railing. He stared down into the Quasi-Chamber, laughing softly. "I'll need some time to find us an appropriate handbasket."

Vaako and his wife exchanged a look of exasperated incomprehension before retreating, leaving Riddick alone with the murmurings of the Quasi-Dead.

**

"You're certainly playing with fire."

"I thought your specialty was air." Riddick didn't look up from his careful cleaning. A row of knives was spread out on the dark coverlet of his new bed, and he was cleaning each blade, pausing to sharpen or smooth a nick or burr out of the metal when necessary.

"Very funny, Riddick." Aereon slipped into view, finding a place on the opposite side of the bed where she could watch him work. "This could backfire on you very badly."

"And I suppose you're here to give me the odds?"

She gave an unladylike snort. "Hardly, although they cannot be said to be favorable."

"What're you afraid of?" He picked up one of the knives and carefully tested the blade with his thumb before squinting along the edge. "That I might die before you can get off this traveling mausoleum?"

"Where would I go?" The question was obviously rhetorical, and she did not pause to allow him an answer. "Everywhere this ship lands is slated for their cleansing. If I survived that, I would be marooned on a dead world."

"So you're stuck here." He found that amusing, looking at up her with a faint smile. "Unless you'd like to hop a ride to the Underverse with me and the Backstab Kid."

"I think not." She watched for a moment or two as he went back to his careful maintenance. "You realize that, even if you return from this pilgrimage, the chances of your being able to change anything here are very small."

"Why would I want to change anything?"

"You're a monster, Riddick, but not that sort of monster. Genocide holds no charms for you."

He glanced up at her again, this time unsmiling. "Really. While it may not be my thing, I sure as hell don't have anyone left out there who I might give a damn if they lived or died. Why not be their crazy ass Lord Marshal? It's not like I'm going to find anything better."

Aereon gave him a tight-lipped frown. "I don't believe that – and neither do you."

"How do you know what I believe?"

"You're a Furyan, and they do not understand the meaning of the word 'defeat'. Allowing the Necromongers to continue with their path of destruction would be to turn your back on everything that makes you Furyan - would be to let Zhylaw _win_."

_The faint clink of metal echoed strangely in the abandoned hangar, an odd counterpart to the soft voice of an intimate stranger. The look in the back of those eyes, far too old for the calm face as he looked Riddick squarely in the face, long coat open and the pulsing blue of their shared heritage causing a sympathetic throb in his own chest…._

'We all began as something else.'

Riddick blinked away the memory to find Aereon wearing a look that combined pity with understanding. He glared at her. "You're awfully smug for someone who's going to spend the rest of their life aboard a floating tomb."

"I have faith in your sense of self-preservation, if nothing else." There was a sparkle to her eyes as she suddenly smiled at him. "You will not be here forever – and neither will I."

"Smug," he repeated, leveling a knife at her.

"Perhaps. I'm not the one about to confine myself to a small vessel, on my way to ritual suicide, with the man most likely to benefit from my failure to succeed at not dying _completely_." Her smile was hard, despite the humor still evident in her voice. "What do you hope to accomplish by taking Vaako, of all people, to the Threshold with you?"

"Other than pissing off his wife?" Riddick placed the knife on the bed and rocked back onto his heels. "I've seen her type before. She's ambitious and she's intelligent enough to be more dangerous than any of the armored goons. I don't want to leave the two of them here together while I wander off to see the Underverse. I'd come back to poison in my congratulatory wine – and that's if I was lucky."

"So you think she's the more dangerous of the two?"

"I _know_ she is, and so do you – but without a husband to be her public voice, her hands're tied." Riddick made a face. "It's amazing these lunatics have gotten as far as they have. If they'd put a few more like her in charge of their planet smashing, they'd be half done by now."

"You'll allow me to be grateful for their lack of foresight, I hope?" Aereon folded her hands. "I will leave you to your preparations, then. And Riddick?"

He glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't get yourself killed."

**

"This is madness." Toal paced back and forth beside the darkly rippling strategy display. "The Lord Marshal makes his pilgrimage across the Threshold _alone_."

"Times change." Vaako was leaning against the display, weight on his hands as he stared down into the darkness, willing an answer to form itself out of the heavy shadows. "Each Lord Marshal has brought something new to our mission. It is our place only to _obey_."

Toal paused, but resumed his pacing without comment as to Vaako's own recent display of revolt. A wise choice, as Vaako was in no mood to deal with any further stress with anything save violence.

"Instead of a transport ship and an honor guard, we will take a scout ship." Vaako ground out.

"That will require a navigator and -"

"Unless you wish to go out and steal a ship from the Breeders, the Lord Marshal will simply have to learn that 'alone' is not possible on a Necromonger ship!" Vaako shoved himself away from the display, turning his temper on his luckless fellow commander. "Your responsibility will be to cleanse Helion Five before the Lord Marshal's return. See to it."

Toal pulled himself to attention, offering a grim nod.

"And find that cursed Elemental." Vaako's voice was savage. "I know she's here somewhere. I want her disposed of." Before she does any _more_ damage – but that went unspoken.

**

Dame Vaako, unable to find a suitable target for her own fury, concentrated on finding some way to salvage the situation. Working the gently hammered metal plates from her hair, she said, "If there were some way to leave him behind in the Underverse and return alone, or win his trust so that he would name you successor...."

She glanced into the mirror, looking at her husband where he stood behind her, his attention obviously elsewhere. "Vaako! Something has to be salvaged from this!"

"Does it?" He did not even bother to look at her, frowning at something unseen. "Everyone in the Basilica knows of my attempt to wrest the place of Lord Marshal for my own, and of my failure. By rights we should already be full dead – both of us."

"Zhylaw should have died by your hand – that throne is yours by right!"

"Should have, _should_ have." He turned on her with a snarl. "Your lust for power has brought us both to the point of ruin. I was a fool to listen to you and twice a fool to doubt the path of our faith. _Obedience_. Loyalty. _Those_ are the truths by which our journey is defined."

"Obedience? Don't make me laugh! See where your loyalty has brought you, sentenced to follow that, that Breeder to the Underverse?" She rose abruptly, hair undone and falling across her shoulders. "And for what? A pat on the head and a 'well done'? You are not a pet, Vaako, you're a warrior – or has even that last bit of pride and worth been stripped from you?"

He took a firm and obvious rein on his temper, staring at her darkly as the accusation hung in the air between them. "Are those the words of farewell you wish upon your husband?"

"Husband?" She turned away, slapping the metal in her hand against her dressing table. "I see nothing of the proud warrior I married here."

There was a very long silence, eventually broken by the sharp 'crack' of the door closing in Vaako's wake. She held her pose before the mirror, shoulders back, chin up and eyes fixed on the closed door behind her until it was obvious that he was truly gone.

For the first time since accepting her place among the Necromongers, Dame Vaako found herself fighting back tears.

**

"You people seem to have trouble with simple orders." Riddick was standing within the small scouting ship and looking down at the Quasi-Dead pilot, expression one of mild disgust. "I don't remember saying anything about bringing one of your weird friends, Vaako."

"The larger ships require more personnel," Vaako told him, with iron patience. "This is the smallest ship we have that can actually carry more than one person – and it requires one of the Quasi-Dead to pilot it."

"I am continually amazed that you people ever manage to get anything done." Riddick shook his head, goggled eyes still fixed on the once-human creature lying before him. "Don't you ever recruit any qualified pilots?"

Vaako knew that he was being baited, and bit back a rude response. "The Quasi-Dead offer immediate and accurate communication. Every ship has one for that reason. The fact that they can also pilot our ships, their reaction times unlimited by the need for physical response, makes them the best possible choice and far better than any _human_ pilot."

The disdain in that single word was obvious, but Riddick didn't react to it, simply looking up at Vaako as the slowly moving Quasi-Dead slid back into its resting place within the wall of the ship. "So it's just going to be you, me and the freak – unless you have any other surprises in store for me."

They stared at each other, Vaako grim and angry, Riddick with a faint smile creasing his lips. Vaako looked away first, unable to sustain a staring contest with a pair of fully hidden eyes. "I am here by your command, Lord Marshal."

"And that's what _really_ chaps your hide." Riddick clapped him roughly on the shoulder as he pushed past, the narrow passage forcing close proximity. "Not to worry, you'll have plenty of time to get used to it."

Vaako waited only until the hatch had closed behind Riddick before driving an armored fist into the wall of the passage. He would _endure_. He would see Riddick to the Threshold, and if Riddick came back – so be it. If he did not…? Vaako clenched his teeth and breathed slowly though his nose.

If Riddick did not return from the Underverse, Vaako would make his decision then. "Obedience without question, loyalty till Underverse come." He'd spoken those words to Zhylaw in deceit, and he was paying for them now. They _had_ to mean something, had to mean _everything_, or there was no point to any of it. His faith was balanced on the point of a needle, and to move away in any direction would be to cause the entire thing to slip –

\- and fall.

**

The ship was really too damn small for comfort, and it had no provisions for cryosleep. That left Vaako and Riddick with a great deal of time on their hands and not much to do. With the Quasi-Dead handling the piloting, that left even fewer options.

Riddick was used to providing his own entertainment, but here and now there was no need. Vaako was all the diversion he needed. He gave it three days, three long days of silence, the two of them packed into the tiny available space like a pair of cannibalistic sardines. He watched Vaako and Vaako, well aware of the scrutiny, attempted to ignore him.

Whether it was something about Vaako himself or something granted him by the transition to Necromonger, the man had a great deal of self-control. Riddick found himself amused by the very obvious and determined way that Vaako managed to spend three days pretending that Riddick simply didn't exist. It was a nice trick, considering that there weren't more than two places in the whole ship to be when not fast asleep, and where Vaako went, Riddick would eventually follow. Not that there was much to choose from, when the first place was the corridor that ended in the tiny alcove holding twin bunks and the second was the smallest galley Riddick had ever seen.

His first attempt at conversation was based in part on the lack of outside entertainment. "Exactly how long is this trip supposed to take, anyway?"

"Three weeks." Vaako looked as if he'd begrudged even those words, and lapsed back into a moody silence.

"Why the fuck you people don't use cryo... you know, I really don't want to know." Riddick went back to playing tic-tac-toe against himself on the surface of the galley table.

"Because it would be a waste of resources." Vaako seemed pleased to be able to provide the information, especially as it would irritate Riddick. "Our drives are far faster than those of the Breeders, and a trip of this length would take another ship years. It is rare that any of our people go far from the fleet, and it would thus be a waste to fit out our ships with the apparatus."

Something else for Riddick to consider in the long hours of the night. Just how fast did the Necro ships run – and how could he best take advantage of that. In the meantime, he needed to learn a little more about Vaako. As long as the man was talking…?

"So. Your wife wears the pants in your family." Not the cleverest of opening gambits, but Riddick was genuinely curious. Both elbows on the skinny table, perched precariously on one of the two tiny stools, he had a steaming mug between his hands. "Wouldn't have taken you for the hen-pecked type."

"My wife is a very intelligent woman." Vaako refused to rise to the bait, busy working a set of dents out of his helm.

"And you're not?"

"My strengths lie in other areas."

Riddick shoved his goggles back and blinked, not sure if Vaako had meant to feed him such an obvious opening or if the man was simply being literal. "Yeah, I'm sure they do." He watched Vaako for another minute or two, but the man made no effort to reply. "Look, what're you doing out here? If I were you, I'd've slit my throat, landed this piece of junk, stolen a new one and be three or four solar systems from here by now."

"You ordered me to accompany you. It is my duty to obey." Despite the calm of Vaako's voice, there were new dents forming along the edge of his helm.

"Duty." Riddick considered that, rolling the heated mug between his palms. "Funny. I could've sworn your duties to the Lord Marshal didn't include an axe between the shoulder blades. Is that the sort of service I should be prepared for?"

"Do not mock me." Vaako's voice was still level, but his tightly reined anger was obvious as he looked up to meet Riddick's eyes. "My faith is real. My devotion is true – but it is to the Lord Marshal, and your pilgrimage is more than just a formality. I serve you not by choice, but because I _must_."

"If your devotion is so true, why the – " Riddick put his mug down to make a two-handed gesture, sweeping downward.

Vaako clenched his teeth and there was a warning creak from the metal still in his hands. "Because he was _afraid_, and a true Necromonger is not victim to fear. It was a weakness that would've brought us all to ruin."

Riddick cocked an eyebrow. "And your being there to step right into his best planet-stomping boots would've been an unintended side-effect. I see." He drew the last word out, mocking.

"I did what had to be done."

"_I_ did what had to be done," Riddick corrected him, picking up his mug again. "You did what your wife told you to do. Not quite the same thing."

"My wife is a loyal – "

"If she were so loyal, you wouldn't be feeling the need to defend her, now would you?" Riddick turned a lazy sneer on him. "I can smell fear, Vaako – and she reeks of it. In fact, she shows a lot more emotion and twice as much spine as anyone else I've seen claiming to follow your Lord Marshal. I wonder how much of that is a healthy interest in self-preservation - as opposed to the rest of you suicidal lunatics."

"You go too far!" Vaako was on his feet, leaning over the table with an ugly gleam to his eyes.

"Do I?" Riddick dropped his empty mug to the table, leaning back on his stool. "The first thing she did was run to the new Lord Marshal's quarters and attempt to ingratiate herself. Alone. I wonder why she'd feel the need to do that? Or maybe she was looking to get some distance from the man who'd just tried to stab, I'm sorry, _chop_ my predecessor in the back."

Vaako's helm left the table at high speed, aiming for Riddick's face. Deflected by Riddick's forearm, it ricocheted away to bounce off the nearest wall as Vaako's fist crashed into Riddick's jaw.

With almost no room to maneuver in the tiny galley, the fight was over almost before it started, leaving Riddick to gingerly shift his jaw back and forth from his seat on Vaako's back. "I can see that this relationship is going to need a little work. Nice punch, though."

The snarled response indicated that Vaako was far from appreciating the compliment.

"You and I, we need to learn to work together," Riddick told him, shifting his weight and non-coincidentally bringing one booted foot down on the back of Vaako's knee. "I don't intend to spend the rest of my life, or half-life, or whatever you call it, having to look back over my shoulder in case today is the day you felt just a little less religious than usual."

"You – " Vaako broke off, breath hissing through his teeth. Being able to withstand great pain didn't mean that you couldn't feel it, and Riddick was putting a great deal of pressure on the back of that joint.

"Me." Riddick heaved a theatrical sigh. "Do we really have to do this the hard way?"

"And what would be the easy way?" Vaako heaved suddenly upward, just as Riddick chose to stand, and nearly overbalanced himself.

Riddick stepped away, looking down at him grimly. "Embrace your damn faith. I'm the fucking Lord Marshal, and you do what I say – at least for the duration of this trip. If I go over the Threshold and come back, you're going to continue to do as I say until, how do you people put it… ah yes, 'Til Underverse Come'. "

"And if you don't?"

"Then you can do as you damn well please. I sure as hell won't care." Riddick offered his hand.

After a long, suspicious pause, Vaako pushed Riddick's hand aside and pulled himself to his feet. "Until the Threshold."

"'Until the Threshold, _sir_'."

Vaako scooped up his helmet and stormed from the galley, leaving Riddick laughing quietly to himself.

**

Riddick left Vaako alone for the next few days, or as alone as he could be when sharing such a small, physical space. Vaako almost resented the courtesy, tangled as he was in a battle between his faith and what he'd come to believe his rightful place should be.

The balance between the purity of the Necromonger Way and the belief that _he_ should be the one to lead them past the fires of their cleansing to the Underverse – was slipping.

He could hear his wife's voice, cajoling, exhorting, coaxing him along the path which led to the Lord Marshal's throne, explaining exactly why it was _his_ place, _his_ destiny. He could hear too his own voice, reciting the vow that went with conversion and with his elevation to the rank of Commander.

If he could just _ask_ her, use the Quasi-Dead to hear her voice… but there was no way such a conversation would be possible without Riddick hearing every word.

"It's never easy, is it."

Vaako jerked his head up, startled by the unexpected voice. Riddick was sitting on the floor below his bunk, leaning against the wall. "-what?"

"Having everything you believed about yourself knocked to pieces." Riddick's goggles were wound between his fingers and he was looking down at them thoughtfully. "It's even harder when you've got other people telling you what to believe." He tipped his head to look up at Vaako. "Isn't it?"

The balance within was shifting, even as Riddick spoke, and Vaako scowled down at him. "You know nothing about it. Have you ever believed in anything outside yourself?"

Riddick stared up at him for a long moment. "Not for a long time. Maybe it's time I started."

"Don't you think it's a little late for that, 'Lord Marshal'?" Vaako didn't even try to keep the derision from his voice.

"I'm trying to be sympathetic here," Riddick told him, lips quirking. "Don't I get points for trying?"

"Not enough." Vaako dropped back into his bunk, staring up at the ceiling.

"Come on. I'm bored, you're having an existential crisis – talk to me."

"Is that what our faith is to you? A joke?" He was suddenly tired of Riddick; tired of his jabs, of his insinuations, of his lack of understanding. He couldn't even summon up the surge of anger normally brought by the rediscovery of Riddick's very existence. "If you hold us in such contempt, why are you doing this?"

"Maybe I'm the altruistic type."

"Maybe you're planning to steal the ship and flee." It wasn't a thought that would've occurred to Vaako before this, and it startled him even as it came to him.

"If that'd been my plan, I wouldn't've stuck around _this_ long, and I sure as hell wouldn't've brought _you_ along." Riddick suddenly appeared beside Vaako, leaning his forearms against the edge of the bunk. "Face it, Vaako, you're stuck with me. Might as well make the best of it."

"There is no 'best of it'." Vaako refused to look at him, staring at the ceiling. "You will either become Lord Marshal in truth – or you will die. As Lord Marshal, I must remain your faithful servant. The faith demands it. If you are not –"

"If I'm not, I won't be in any shape to care what happens next." Riddick gave a soft snort of laughter. "Let's concentrate on the positive."

"Positive." Vaako let the bitterness show. "Our leader is not even a member of the faith. How can that _be_?"

"According to the mumblers back at the Necropolis, the first Lord Marshal was thrown out of his religion for being a heretic. Family dead, nothing left to lose, he took himself off out into the great unknown, and came back to slaughter those who'd thrown him out and forcibly convert any survivors." Riddick's tone was dry as he tapped his fingers against the edge of the bunk. "Makes me seem almost _traditional_."

Vaako shoved himself up onto one elbow, the closest he could come to sitting up in the confined space of the bunk, and turned to stare at Riddick. He opened his mouth for an angry protest – and found himself with nothing to say.

Riddick gave him a broad smile. "Maybe you people have gotten a bit too complacent. Find a planet, convert a few people, burn the place down… wash, rinse, repeat. I could be here to take you on an entirely new and exciting path of destruction and mayhem." He shoved himself away from the bunk, still smiling. "See, that's the problem with religion. It teaches you to believe without _thinking_. Try thinking for yourself, Vaako. You might actually enjoy it."

**

"This is the most fucking disturbing method of communication ever," Riddick told the slowly twisting Quasi-Dead in the drawer beside him. Sitting on the floor, an arm around one knee, he wasn't even looking at the creature. "Who came up with it, anyway?"

After a moment's delay, a dry, whispering response came. "Lord Marshal Krill, Zylaw's predecessor. It was not easy to find a way to contact you, Riddick, and I shan't be able to stay undetected long while chatting with you. Shall we stick to less trivial topics?"

"Yeah. How're things at home, dear? Are the children behaving?"

Standing in the darkness of the Necropolis, Aereon pursed her lips at Riddick's flippancy. "If you mean, 'are they preparing to continue their genocidal course', yes they are." She frowned down at the Quasi-Dead who bore her words to Riddick's ship and gave a brief shudder. "Dame Vaako has been suspiciously quiet, but I do not doubt that she's plotting something."

"I'd be willing to bet on it." Riddick chuckled softly, but without humor. "Vaako's actually showing signs of independent thought. I'm guessing that Necromonger indoctrination doesn't hold up well against constant wear – probably why they had the Purifier in the first place. Pick someone who can talk a good game and won't flinch in the face of desperate resistance… and let the others watch him work."

"Perhaps." Aereon sighed. "Your commanders are quietly convincing themselves that Vaako will murder you and come back with the powers of the Lord Marshal – at which point they will murder him and send one of their own to the Threshold. They are not yet in agreement as to which they will send, which makes me suspect that there will be open bloodshed in the halls."

"Maybe we just shouldn't come back for a while – let the problem take care of itself." He glanced down the short passage toward the bunks. "So our little troublemaker has been quiet? Are you sure she's not behind this little plot of the commanders?"

"I'd give it very good odds, actually. Unfortunately, she's stayed mostly in her quarters and I haven't actually been able to catch her at it, so I cannot say for certain." Aereon frowned. "How are you keeping Vaako from overhearing this?"

"Oh, it'll be at least another hour before he manages to wake up enough to even know where he is." Riddick rose to his feet and stretched, turning to look down at the Quasi-Dead beside him. He made a face at it. "I slipped something into his water earlier. Even Necromongers don't do well with 1000mg of heavy sedatives in them."

"I wouldn't try it again. He's not stupid and that sort of tampering is fairly obvious."

"I'm keeping an eye on him. Who knows, if he actually starts thinking with his mind instead of his faith, we might manage to get somewhere."

Aereon rolled her eyes. "Just… hurry things along, if you can. While I wouldn't entirely mind a bloody revolution, it will make staying out of sight far more difficult than I would like."

"I'm pedaling as hard as I can." Riddick shoved the drawer closed, breaking communication. He leaned against the wall for several minutes, thinking hard. "Faster, hmm?"

**

When Vaako woke, head feeling stuffed with various unpleasant, yet blunted objects, it took him a few minutes to figure out what must have happened. It took several more before he realized that he was still alive and he should probably be surprised by that.

"Have some tea." Riddick was coming down the passageway, a mug in each hand. He'd been tormenting Vaako for so long, that the lack of a teasing smile was almost a shock.

Vaako stared suspiciously at the mug and then at Riddick before reluctantly taking it. Necromongers didn't eat much, but they did require food and drink.

"It's safe," Riddick assured him. "Drink up. I think it's time you had a talk with your wife, and you wouldn't want a dry throat for that."

Mug almost to his lips, Vaako paused, eyebrows shooting upward. "You want me to speak to my wife?"

"Who am I to come between a man and his spouse?" The question was obviously rhetorical, and there was a decided glint in his strange, shining eyes. "Take your time. Some things shouldn't be rushed."

He left Vaako there, still half-propped in his bunk, and vanished down the cramped passage to the galley.

It was several minutes before Vaako dropped down from his bunk, still mulling suspiciously over this 'opportunity'. The harsh words exchanged before his departure still bothered him more than he cared to admit. For all that their marriage was one of convenience, they did care about each other. This was a partnership, with all it entailed, and having something festering between them was… wrong.

He did not forget that Riddick would be listening, however out of sight, and he had no doubt that the other man intended it that way. The Quasi-Dead was ready, as they always were, but Vaako didn't have to wait for a response.

"Where have you been? Are you all right?"

Startled at the intensity of the questions, Vaako responded without thinking. "I'm fine."

There was a long pause before the Quasi-Dead whispered a response, duplicating Dame Vaako's tone perfectly, "Then why have you not called? I have been waiting."

"There is no privacy here." Vaako glanced involuntarily down toward the galley.

"Then he is still alive? What is taking so long?"

There was no reason for the stab of cold that shot through Vaako, bringing his head up and his shoulders back. He couldn't summon up an answer, feeling the balance between faith and ambition shift again.

"Answer me, Vaako!" The necessity of keeping her voice down made the demand a hiss, despite the lack of sibilants in her words.

He knew that she was alone, surrounded by people who knew she was the force behind his own attempt at the Lord Marshal, knew that they had parted in anger, knew that he was all she had in terms of power and control in her life. She was _afraid_ and –

"He is the Lord Marshal." The words nearly choked him, but he forced them out. "This is his pilgrimage. It is not _right_ to interfere with that. He will live or die by his trials in the Underverse."

"No!" He did not have to see her to know that she was holding to the edge of the Quasi-Dead's shell, could see her knuckles tightening. How he could not have seen it before…? "You must come back as Lord Marshal, you must! This is an opportunity that – "

"No." He closed his eyes, trying to deny the flood of images that came with her voice. "This must end."

"You haven't the guts – "

He closed the drawer with a rough shove, cutting off her voice abruptly. He turned away, driving his fist into the wall of the passage, feeling his knuckles crack with the force of the blow. Too much. It was _too much_.

"Well. That's gotta suck."

Vaako didn't look up, remaining with his fist pressed to the wall and breathing hard through his nose.

"Your old lady doesn't take no for an answer, does she?" Riddick was leaning out of the galley entrance, one arm on each side of the door. "Nice to know that you aren't planning to murder me in my sleep and all, but don't you think that was a little extreme? I mean, the marital bed won't be a place of joy and welcome when you get home, will it?"

"She has lost sight of the faith." The words would've been a death sentence, spoken to anyone else, but Vaako knew Riddick well enough by now to know that he didn't give a damn one way or the other. "There is nothing left but fear and desperation."

"Can you blame her?"

His hand dropped to his side, throbbing in a way that let him know he'd broken at least one bone. He couldn't find it in him to care. "No."

"So now it's just you and me and the great wide Underverse." Riddick laughed softly. "Think your faith can handle it?"

It was a hard question, no matter how ironic the delivery, but Vaako did not hesitate with his answer. "I know my faith." He glanced over to see Riddick giving him that hungry, half-smile. "I know my way."

Riddick raised his mug. "To the Threshold."

"To the Threshold."


End file.
